


The Kensington House

by geekmama



Series: Time of the Season [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: The thought of his children on the loose in Alicia Smallwood’s elegant Kensington mansion was enough to strike dismay into the heart of a stronger man than Sherlock Holmes...





	The Kensington House

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this off and on for months, so yay! One WIP down and one to go. This is for the 'Where' prompt in the BDT, the table of 100 prompts I've been working on since I started writing in the Sherlock fandom -- only two prompts left. This is the 26th part of the [Time of the Season](http://archiveofourown.org/series/634787) series, and it's not only pretty much pure fluff, it's also kid!fic, so be warned.
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There was something amiss. Sherlock knew it as soon as he laid eyes on his wife, on returning to 221B earlier than his text that afternoon had originally estimated. Molly was very happy to see him, but there was something around her eyes, and in her smile, and in her embrace when she rose from the dinner table and came round to greet him. The baby must have been put to bed already, but the three older children were their usual selves, each of them vying for attention and yammering on when Sherlock was frowning with narrowed eyes, striving for wordless communication with their mother. 

But then Jon popped up with, “Oh, and Lady Smallwood came to visit today, she walked in just when we’d started playing pirates!” 

And Will laughed. “Yes, we were bashing about with our swords, even Daisy. And Lexie was _helping_ Mum with the laundry, so the place was a complete tip! I think Lady Smallwood was pretty shocked, she didn’t stay for tea or anything--” 

“But Daddy!” Daisy broke in, tugging with some violence on the sleeve of his Belstaff. “She asked us to dinner tomorrow -- _all_ of us, not just you and Mummy. At her beautiful house! May we go, _pleeeease?_ ” 

Sherlock pried Daisy’s little hand from his coat and gave it a squeeze, though he raised a brow at Molly’s expression. “Is that what it is?” 

He saw that she was tempted to brush it off, but then she gave a rueful chuckle. “Well, yes, a bit. Not that I blame the children! If it hadn’t been pouring buckets all day, we could have gone out somewhere, a museum and the park perhaps. But with Lexie barely on the mend from that virus...” 

“Yes, the weather was far too cold,” Sherlock agreed. “It’s ridiculous for the beginning of May, and particularly inconvenient on a day when these tiresome brats are out of school and must be kept occupied lest they tear the place apart.” The _tiresome brats_ merely laughed at this, and hugged him, and he couldn’t help smirking. But he said to Molly, “Not the best way to spend your day off. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stay and help. ” 

“Greg needed you,” Molly shrugged. “And we managed -- though I believe Will was right about Alicia being shocked. Mrs. Hudson let her in and we didn’t hear her coming up the stairs, so there was no time to put things to rights. But we can discuss this later, if you like. I believe your greedy sons have left you at least a few scraps of dinner! Come sit down.” 

But Daisy, dissatisfied at this put-off, said, “But Mummy, Daddy, can we go tomorrow? If we _promise_ to be good?” 

The thought of his children on the loose in Alicia Smallwood’s elegant Kensington mansion was enough to strike dismay into the heart of a stronger man than Sherlock Holmes, promises or no. But Molly reiterated in her “Mummy’s Serious” tone, “Your father and I will discuss it later!” and Daisy sighed, dramatically sulky as only a four year old -- _his_ four year old -- could be, but ultimately accepting the delay without further complaint.

 

*

 

Alicia might be known as Lady Smallwood, Associate of the British Government, but she was also very much a woman and a mother, and was not at all impervious to the sight of three of the four Holmes urchins, all dressed to the nines and fairly dancing with anticipation of a high treat as they made their way into the gate and up the front walk, their wary but resigned parents in tow. 

“No running! And remember: your _best manners_ ,” Molly was heard to say, probably for the tenth time. 

Alicia chuckled as Mycroft came up beside her at the door and took her hand in his. 

“Let’s hope you’re still amused two hours from now,” he murmured. 

“Oh, hush,” she said, giving him a severe look. “You know you love them to pieces.” 

Mycroft gave a sigh of resignation. “I do, but I prefer them in small doses, rather than _en masse_.” 

Alicia chuckled at that. “They’ll be _fine_.” She turned back to greet Daisy as the little girl cast off restraint and flitted ahead, up the walkway. 

“Look at my new dress, Aunt Alicia!” she exclaimed, as she bounced up the few marble steps to the wide porch. She stopped to smooth the skirt of the pink satin confection she was wearing. “Isn’t it lovely?” 

“My dear, you look ravishing,” Alicia assured her, bending down to kiss her cheek. 

Daisy sweetly returned the favor, and then said, brightly, “Hello, Uncle Mycroft! We’re here!” 

“So I see,” said Mycroft, the laughter in his voice almost entirely free of disapprobation. 

“Look, lads!” said Sherlock, too brightly, as the rest of the family approached in Daisy’s wake. “Uncle Mycroft is here, too! Now we’re _guaranteed_ a fine selection of cake!” 

Alicia narrowed her eyes at Mycroft’s brother but refrained from comment as Molly had the matter in hand with raised brows and a useful jab with her elbow. 

Unfortunately, he only simpered at Molly before turning his teasing gaze on his brother again. “Things _must_ be slow at the office with both of you able to be here,” he remarked. 

“An accurate observation,” said Mycroft, “and a fact for which we must all be thankful. Boys! You look very smart -- and uncomfortable. I thought school was out several hours ago.” 

“We had our music lessons just before we came,” Jon said, wrinkling his nose. “Madame insists we dress like _gentlemen_.” 

“Ah, so I recall now, and very proper, too,” said Mycroft with approval, “though if your parents permit you might at least remove your ties -- God knows your father hasn’t worn one in years. Molly, my dear, you look as ravishing as your daughter.” 

Molly, who wore a lacy white cardigan over a light blue sheath that prettily accentuated her still-slender figure, said warmly, “It’s good to see you, Mycroft.” 

“And you,” said Mycroft, with real sincerity, smiling down at his sister-in-law. 

“Alicia,” said Sherlock. “You’re looking well.” 

Alicia raised a brow. “Thank you,” she said, then silently mouthed one word at him: _Behave!_  

He made no verbal reply, just assumed a comically wounded expression and placed his hand over his heart. 

Alicia rolled her eyes and and turned back to the little boys. “I see that you’ve brought along your violin, Jon, and we’ve just had the piano in the drawing room re-tuned. Will you two favor us with your latest pieces?” 

“Yes!” said Jon with alacrity, and Will smiled, too, his eyes lighting at the prospect of sitting down behind Alicia’s beautiful baby grand. “But can we play in the back garden after?” 

Alicia laughed, remembering the astoundingly grubby but eminently satisfied look of the three the last time they’d been allowed the run of the back garden. The lawn and shrubbery were quite extensive for a home situated in the middle of London -- which was, of course, one reason for tonight’s invitation. Alicia said, “If your parents permit, yes, but you should probably wait until after we’ve had dinner. Now come in, all of you, and let’s have some music!”

 

*

 

The children had been on their best behavior, both prior to dinner and throughout the rather formal meal, sufficiently awestruck by their surroundings to be quieter and more careful than usual, and actually put into use the manners they’d been taught. Now they had been released to play in the back garden while the light lasted, much to Molly’s relief. The house was not at all “childproof”, for Alicia’s three children were grown and had been gone a dozen years or more. None of the three had elected to settle in the noisy bustle and excitement of London and now rarely even visited the metropolis. Alicia’s eldest, the current Lord Smallwood, had settled at the country estate with his wife and son, shortly after the death of his father; her younger son had emigrated to Australia in his early twenties and was still gainfully employed in the music industry when he wasn’t indulging in some extreme sport or other, to which his mother was forced to turn a blind eye or go mad with worry; and the daughter of the family had married a Scots physician and was settled in a picturesque little town outside Edinburgh, busily raising a pair of ginger-haired twin girls and apparently more than content with rural life. 

“It’s a shame your children don’t care for the city,” Molly commiserated, as Alicia stepped up beside her, near the window where she had been surreptitiously keeping an eye on her brood. “You must miss them.” 

Alicia gave a little shrug, though she was smiling as she looked out at the children in the garden. “Oh, I don’t know. It gives one a good reason to indulge in frequent holidays. Mycroft and I were in Scotland just last weekend, for example -- Allison and Amabel are growing up so quickly! And I believe it won’t be long before they and their cousins -- my oldest boy’s children -- will be able to come visit us in London, whether their parents accompany them or not.” 

Molly smiled. “That _will_ be an event.” 

“To be sure. They’re already anxious to meet their little Holmes cousins.” But then Alicia chuckled. “Heavens, I can just see -- and hear -- Mycroft.” 

Molly gave a small snort of laughter. “We’ll have to get him a bottle of his favorite wine for the occasion. Or even brandy! But he’s been very welcoming to _our_ little savages this evening. I was a bit surprised you dared to invite us, after that display at Baker Street yesterday. Not our finest moment.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” said Alicia. “Entirely understandable under the circumstances! And there’s not a mean-spirited bone among the lot of them. Really, Molly, you’ve done an amazing job with them.” 

“Well, thank you, but Sherlock has a great deal to do with it, too, you know. He’s a wonderful father.” 

“Marriage and fatherhood seem to have been the making of him, certainly,” Alicia agreed. “Gave him something to think about other than his beautiful, brilliant self, which was exactly what he needed. Still, who would have guessed, nine years ago?” 

“Well… _I_ did,” Molly said with a smile. 

“So you did.” Alicia turned to Molly and considered her thoughtfully for a few moments, and finally Molly raised an inquiring brow. Alicia said, as if in reply. “Speaking of yesterday… not that _that_ has anything to do with it, really, it merely reminded me _why…_ well… I assure you I’ve had it in mind for months...” 

Amused at this uncharacteristic rambling, Molly asked,. “Alicia, are you quite alright? _What_ did you have in mind?” 

Alicia took a deep breath through her nose, steadying herself, then glanced around before meeting Molly’s eyes again. “Do you like this house?” 

Molly laughed. “Well, of course. How could one not?” 

“Yes. Well. I like it, too. But it wants… a _family_. It was made for a family, all those years ago, and of course it was a splendid home for mine when the children were growing up, but… they’ve been gone a long time, now. And my husband… well. In any case, I was wondering… would you and Sherlock like to have it?” 

Molly stared, gave a choking exclamation of “ _What?_ Alicia, you--” 

“Rent free, of course,” Alicia interrupted, as though Molly hadn’t spoken. “Though there is still the upkeep -- I use a service now, and they are most efficient, if a trifle costly, though with the children you might want to hire some staff -- not necessarily live-in, though there is certainly room, there are quarters for at least two or three persons off the kitchen. And there are the taxes. But I’m given to understand the two of you could well afford those things and still keep Baker Street as an office for Sherlock, and as a second… ah… bolthole? Guest house? In any case, I don’t suppose you’d care to give it up. You have done such a lovely job renovating it since you and Sherlock married and the children began to arrive.” 

“Alicia! You cannot be serious!” 

“I am, though.” A little smile tugged at Alicia’s lips. “I have finally acquiesced to Mycroft’s wishes and consented to move into his house. There is some refurbishment already being done there in preparation.” 

“Oh!” Molly smiled. “That’s wonderful! Are you… that is--” 

“I have not yet agreed to marry him. We are still in negotiations on that point.” 

Molly laughed. “Oh, Alicia, you are… _the completest thing_. To keep The British Government on a lead for all these years…” 

Alicia chuckled, and looked quite smug. But she said, “So. Will you discuss it with Sherlock? Since little Alexandra came along it is all too apparent to those who love you that 221B Baker Street will soon be filled to bursting. Here there are enough bedrooms for each of your children to have his or her own with plenty left over for guests, a playroom, an office. I won’t be taking much of the furniture, just a few favorite pieces, and you can keep what you like, and replace the rest at your leisure. Daisy, and even the boys might like to pick out new furnishings for their bedrooms, for example. They still share a room at 221B, I believe?” 

“Yes,” said Molly, feeling quite dazed. “John’s old bedroom, though they’re getting so big… and we’ve been in a quandary about Lexie, now that she is getting older. She can’t stay in our room much longer.” 

“And here she won’t have to!” Alicia said cheerily. “There is a lovely little bedroom that would be perfect for her, just across from the master suite.” 

“The master suite!” Molly repeated, even more dazed. Not that she and Sherlock had not been blissfully happy in his bedroom… well, _their_ bedroom, for almost a decade now. But still… 

“Would you like to come upstairs and take a look around? And I believe Mycroft has been presenting the proposal to Sherlock while we’ve been talking, and I haven’t heard any explosions. I take it as a good sign, don’t you?” 

“Oh, Heavens. I don’t know what to say, Alicia. Why… _why?_ ” 

“I don’t want to sell -- the property just gets more and more valuable. But I don’t want it to sit vacant, either. And lease it to strangers? I… I just don’t think I could do it. Think of it this way: you and Sherlock will be doing me a great favor.” Alicia laughed again at Molly’s apparently obvious bewilderment. “Come! Pull yourself together. The children will be fine out in the garden for half an hour. Let’s go see what Sherlock thinks, and the two of you can take a look at the rooms upstairs -- go all over the house, in fact, so you can make an informed decision.”

 

*

 

It was after midnight and he and Molly were in bed, but not sleeping. Far from it. They were both lying on their backs, staring at the deeply shadowed ceiling. Holding hands. Still both astounded at the way their world was being overturned. 

Sherlock thought one minute that he couldn’t do it, then the next he remembered that he would not be _leaving_ 221B, precisely -- he would still spend a great deal of time there. And Baker Street was just as close to the boys’ school as the Kensington house. He could imagine his sons racing over when class let out, if he were not out on some case; doing their homework or playing until he should be ready to journey home. 

Home. 

They could still practice their music here, after school -- Mrs. Hudson would grieve for it, else. 

Ah, Hudders. What would she say to all this? She was getting on in years, of course. Didn’t make the journey up the stairs with tea and scones nearly as often lately. Visited her sister in Devon more, though that lady’s health was failing rapidly, from what he gathered. That would be a blow and no mistake.  And it might not be long before she herself… well. Time was a cruel master to all, even their timeless landlady ( _Not your housekeeper!_ \-- he grinned briefly in the black night). 

There’d be room at the Kensington house for her, too, if it came to that. 

Ten bedrooms. Lord. Not quite as bad as Musgrave, but along those lines. 

They would have to acquire a housekeeper. 

And a second violin for Jon to keep at 221B. The spinet could stay, since Mycroft had a fine instrument of his own and Alicia had told them she was content to leave her baby grand with the House. William would like that -- and Molly. And the girls, eventually. Daisy was nearly old enough to begin lessons already. 

But… it still hurt to think of leaving. After all the work they’d put into 221B (and C) to create a suitable environment for their growing family. Of course, they had not realized just how _much_ their family would grow when they’d begun the renovations. 

Four children. Who would have thought it, a decade back? And yet here they were with a houseful -- and nothing yet done to prohibit a potential fifth. They’d have to think seriously about that, or risk another surprise. Alexandra had been a delightful one, to be sure, but _five children?_ It seemed excessive, to put it mildly. 

Though his parents wouldn’t mind. They reveled in their role, Mummy dismissing the bother with a wave of her hand, and merely hiring some neighbors’ daughters, lively teenaged girls, to help out when Will, Jon, and Daisy were to stay more than a night or two. And Lexie, soon enough. 

And he gave a slight snort of laughter at the thought of denying his _own_ happiness. 

“What?” Molly whispered, turning her head on the pillow to peer at him, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed back. “I am… _counting my blessings_ , I suppose.” 

She let go of his hand and turned onto her side to face him, fingers rather shyly smoothing the soft material of the ancient T-shirt he wore. She said, “Do you think the Kensington house would enhance them?” 

“I think it might. I think we’d be fools not to accept. Our children are not going to stop growing.” 

She chuckled. “No! Though sometimes I wish…” 

“What? That time would stop?” He moved to face her and put his hand on her waist. 

“Yes,” she said, and, closing the final gap, kissed him. 

He smiled beneath the kiss, bittersweet. 

He’d always known there were two sides of the coin called love, which was why he’d shied away from it for so many years, and even this issue, the inexorable march of time, was an ever-present weight. Pain was _always_ part of the joy -- and perhaps made the joy all the sweeter. 

Doors closing. 

And others opening, down the way. 

“I’m a lucky man,” he whispered, when he could. 

“You are,” she whispered back. “And a brave one, too.” 

But he laughed softly at that, knowing that it was only she who allowed him to be so. Physical courage had never been an issue, and he had never lacked confidence in his intellectual abilities. But love… the one thing that truly mattered… that had required assistance. 

The loyalty and perception and faith of one Molly Hooper had been necessary to complete him. 

He reached up and brushed the auburn hair back behind the perfect pale pink shell of her ear, seeing the colors in his mind’s eye, even in the shadows. 

How long had it been since they’d made love in the clear light of morning, or through a long, golden afternoon? 

And yet, the darkness enhanced one’s other senses. 

Touch. 

Smell. 

Taste. 

“I love you,” he replied, still whispering. 

“I know,” she whispered back. 

And, sensing his need, she gave herself to him once again, in that well-practiced way she had… skill… infinite tenderness… an old comfort… 

Yet somehow, she could still surprise him… somehow it was always, _always_ new.

 

*

 

Mycroft was stuck in his office, but Alicia was able to escape for a few hours on the evening of the Big Move, accepting the invitation to join his brother’s family, John and Rosie Watson, and Greg Lestrade for a celebratory dinner of Thai take-away, and to see the changes that had been wrought at the Kensington house. 

Alicia had moved out nearly two months before to facilitate matters, and was happier living with Mycroft than she had imagined possible -- and he seemed content, too. He had twice reiterated his proposal that they should marry, and she had almost accepted the last time. Perhaps it would _not_ needlessly complicate their lives. Perhaps she was making too much of a fuss over it. She knew many women who were on their third or even fourth marriage -- and most of them were divorcees, a situation far more difficult than her own. Being a widow, with her children grown and getting on with their lives, really did simplify matters. 

She was still mulling over this subject as she arrived at her former residence, and did not move on until she’d exited the car and had entered the front gate. Walking up to the door, however, she noticed how neat the small front garden looked, with three new rose bushes, a new bed of pansies beside the porch, and the bits of lawn very well-tended. The front door had been repainted, too, a shiny black, and it now sported a knocker very similar to the one on the door of 221B Baker Street. 

She used the knocker in the manner for which it was intended, and it wasn’t more than twenty seconds before the door was thrown open by Jon, with Daisy just behind. 

“Aunt Alicia!” said Jon -- or half-shouted, really. “Wait till you see my bed! It’s even better than it looked in the shop!” 

“She has to see _my_ room first!” cried Daisy in the tone of a four year old who’d gone without her nap _and_ reached the limit of her patience with her older brother. She gripped Jon’s jumper with both hands and tried to pull him out of her way with some violence. 

But Sherlock had apparently heard Alicia’s knock, too and was coming up just behind the children. Seeing what was toward, he snapped, “ _Enough!_ ” in so sharp a tone that Alicia gave a little start herself, and the children turned to him wide-eyed. 

Jon was carefully silent. Daisy, however, began to whinge, “But Daddy! Jon--” 

“ _But Daisy_ ,” Sherlock interrupted, bending down to look her in the eye. “You’ve been skating on thin ice for the last hour and if you utter one more _word_ you’ll find yourself staring at the most boring corner I can find in this house. _Alone._ Until _I_ say you can move, _not_ your mother or Uncle John. _Do you understand?_ ” 

Alicia tensed, fearful that the little girl would be rash enough to put her father to the test. But, thankfully, she did not. Daisy merely lowered her gaze, lip quivering. 

Sherlock straightened to face Alicia, “Welcome to the madhouse.” 

Alicia replied, sympathetically, “Long day?” 

“My God, you’ve no idea. Come into the dining room,” he said, leading the way. “The kitchen’s set up, and the bedrooms -- and they do look like something out of Parenting Magazine. But the tour can wait. We were just setting out dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry,” came a tiny, discontented voice from behind them. 

“ _Shut it!_ ” came Jon’s hiss, just as Alicia glanced over her shoulder. Jon was giving Daisy’s arm a surreptitious squeeze in warning, even as he favored Alicia with an innocent smile. 

Sherlock wisely feigned deafness and led the way into the dining room.

 

*

 

Less than an hour later, John and Rosie had departed, Sherlock was discussing a case with Greg over some brandy, and Molly led the way up the staircase, carrying little Alexandra, Will and Jon racing ahead, and Alicia Smallwood bringing up the rear, hand in hand with a now smiling Daisy. 

Daisy’s smiles were in strong contrast to the pout she’d maintained throughout dinner, much to her father’s annoyance. Molly, tired as she was, had been rather amused, however, and had quietly reminded Sherlock that his daughter came by her pout honestly, and the avowed lack of hunger, too. John and Greg would have picked up on this, both friends hinting at numerous recollections of a certain consulting detective who’d been renowned for his petulance in the past, but they’d cut the teasing short, not because of Sherlock’s glare, but in consideration of the fact that Will, Jon, and Rosie had been all ears. 

But it wasn’t hard to understand why Daisy and her brothers were anxious to show off their new bedrooms. Lady Smallwood had accompanied them when they’d all gone furniture shopping a few weeks ago, and now at last she would see the results. 

Alicia had convinced Daisy that they should “save the best for last”, so Will’s room was shown first. He’d opted to keep the simple and elegant cherry furniture already in the room, only enhancing the collection with a new roll top desk to match. There were several movie posters on the walls, Star Wars, Avengers, and the like, and the framed print of the periodic table that had hung in Sherlock’s room for so many years held pride of place above his new desk. All the bedrooms had walk-in wardrobes and Will’s now held stacks of board games and neatly organized bins of Legos, action figures, and other small toys. Molly said to Alicia, “Admire it now -- it’s not likely to look this tidy for long!”, but Will, who was now ten and feeling very grown up as the eldest, said, “It will if I can keep the brats from destroying it!” 

Jon retorted, “Who needs _your_ old stuff? Come on and see mine, Aunt Alicia!” 

Jon, too, had chosen a desk for homework and art projects, but had also fallen in love with a sturdy bed frame designed to look like a race car. Much to his delighted surprise, his mother had approved the purchase, though his father had been less pleased with the idea when he’d been informed. However, when the bed had arrived and Sherlock had seen its beauty and quality, he had become much more enthusiastic. He and Jon had run with the theme, and the walls were now adorned with a number of pictures and posters of race cars, and Sherlock had installed shelves for Jon’s collection of model cars. His beloved trains were relegated to the wardrobe, but Alicia noted that his old Thomas the Tank cuddle pillow was waiting for him on the new bed. 

Daisy’s room was last, and certainly by far the best, at least in Daisy’s opinion. The entire room had been redone in pink: pink furniture with lovely hand-painted flowers; fuzzy pink throw rugs; gauzy pink drapes on the window and canopied four-poster bed; and tiny pink rosebuds were patterned over the newly installed wallpaper. It might have been overwhelming, but Molly had insisted on using paler shades of pink along with a judicious use of white, and the result was really quite soothing. 

“Goodness!” exclaimed Alicia, taking it in. “It looks rather as though it dropped from Heaven!” 

Molly chuckled. “Now all it needs is an angel to take care of it!” 

“That’s me!” Daisy piped up. 

“Hmmm,” said Molly doubtfully. “I don’t know… there _was_ that little display at the dinner table. An angel would not have behaved so -- or at least she would have apologized to her father for giving into her weariness, even after a long day of moving house.” 

Daisy looked between Molly and Lady Smallwood uncertainly as she worked this out, but then, coming to a decision, exclaimed, “I’ll be right back!” She ran from the room and could presently be heard yelling, “ _Daddy! Daddy!_ ” as she pounded down the stairs.

 

*

 

At four in the morning, Sherlock was lying abed, caught up in a comfortable and eminently satisfied tangle with the wife of his bosom, the two of them having inaugurated the Kensington house in the best way imaginable, after recruiting their strength with a few hours’ sleep. 

“ _Now_ it’s on its way to being home,” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s ear. 

And she laughed, and turned her face to his, and kissed him. “I love you,” she said. 

“I know,” he returned with a smile. 

There were a great many more kisses, and some happy sighs, and cuddling: plenty of the most delightful clichés. But presently Molly extricated herself with a whispered, “Have to use the loo!” and Sherlock lay back contentedly against the pillows, stared at the shadowed ceiling, and thought once again what a lucky man he was. 

He must have started drowsing again, for suddenly Molly was there, whispering his name again. “Hmm?” he said, opening his eyes. The light was dim, but he could see she’d put on her dressing gown. 

“Get up for a minute!” she said softly. “You have to see the children!” 

He frowned, but did as she asked, throwing on his own dressing gown and padding after her over the thick carpet, following her out the door. 

“Are they alright?” he asked. “Lexie’s still asleep, isn’t she?” 

“Yes. It’s the others. Come see.” 

She didn’t pause at Daisy’s half open door, nor at Jon’s, but went straight over to Will’s room and motioned for him to peek in -- and there they were, all three of them curled up together in Will’s big bed, Daisy in the middle, and all of them sound asleep. 

Sherlock turned to Molly and made a silent pantomime of outrage. “Tell me again why we needed to move here? We might just as well be back at Baker Street!” 

But Molly shook her head, grinning. “They’ll get used to it. But now it’s really home for them, too. Don’t you see?” 

There was nothing for it. He had to take her in his arms and kiss her again. “I love you, Mrs. Holmes,” he said finally. 

“I love you, too,” she returned, a trifle breathless. 

The proper exchange. 

He took her hand up, said, “Come, then,” and, in the lovely silence before dawn, he led her back to bed.

 

~.~

 


End file.
